


what your power can do

by onakissgodknows



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Gen, superpower au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onakissgodknows/pseuds/onakissgodknows
Summary: The report comes out before spring training starts, and Kris Bryant wants to melt away like the snowflakes on Chicago sidewalks.





	what your power can do

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [tulowhiskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulowhiskey/pseuds/tulowhiskey) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> I hope I do this justice! I don't really know anything about X-Men and I feel like I didn't adhere as strictly to the prompt as I could have, but I do hope you enjoy it. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> x-men / inhuman type au: powered people have always been a thing, but mlb has never been up on the times. after a scandalous off-season report about these powered people being no better than PED users, baseball is scrambling to put hard and fast rules in place instead of trusting that pride is enough to keep guys in line. 
> 
> player ideas: (can be used or not, and can be anyone!)  
> \- a perennial MVP candidate and a powered person, suddenly disregarded because he was outed in the report despite his powers actually making baseball harder.  
> \- a telepath who always knows what he’s getting pitched but still can’t crack .250  
> \- someone’s powers revealed for the first time during a game, to his own surprise more than anyones  
> \- a player secretly raining out his own game because he just can’t today  
> \- someone without powers accused of having/misusing them because they’re just that good

**_ @Ken_Rosenthal:  _ ** **_BREAKING: Baez, Stanton, Bryant, Arenado among inhumans named in report. Statement from commissioner to follow._ **

-

The report comes out before spring training starts, and Kris Bryant wants to melt away like the snowflakes on Chicago sidewalks.

He’s home in Vegas, and sometimes it seems like melting is all they do there.

He doesn’t use his power often – the fans at large will never believe it, but it’s true. He likes to play the game right, rely on his talent to get through.

He wants to scream that if he did use his power to his advantage, no one would argue anymore about whether or not he’s “clutch.” He’d never get hit by pitch either, but he does. If he wanted, he could come through in every situation his team needs him to, but he doesn’t. It wouldn’t feel right, wouldn’t be authentic. And yeah, the report is right too – doing it that often feels way too much like cheating.

Once in awhile, though, he’ll do it. Once in awhile there’s a fastball coming too fast toward the heart of the plate, and Kris will slow the game down. Literally.

Just enough that he can get ahold of the ball and put it in the bleachers.

That’s not to say he can’t hit without his power. He’s tested this over and over, batting practice with his dad over the years, spring training when the games don’t matter. He doesn’t need to slow time to be a good hitter.

But once in awhile, it’s nice to remember what he can do.

Kris reaches down and scoops up a handful of sand. He lets it slip through his fingers and watches it fall – slowly, oh-so-slowly – back to earth.

Most people will never be able to watch a million tiny grains of sand tumbling slow-motion through the air.

Kris doesn’t care much about what his power can do on the baseball field. He’d rather keep it for the little moments he wishes could last forever.

-

**_@ JonHeyman: #NYY and @Giancarlo818 holding presser today. Unprecedented as Stanton will be first superpowered player in MLB to address media._ **

-

The front office asks Giancarlo if he wants to hold a press conference, and he does, so they do. He’s never been hiding anything.

“Giancarlo, can you confirm the rumors that were released in the anonymous report over the offseason?”

“I can,” Giancarlo says into the microphone, then rocks back in his chair as the whispers erupt throughout the room.

“Giancarlo, how do you feel knowing that you’re now being compared to Barry Bonds and the PED scandal that tarnished his career?”

“Bonds had a great career,” Giancarlo says, still lounging in his chair. “Any day you get compared to one of the best is pretty good in my book.”

The reporter’s face turns sour. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. Giancarlo smirks.

“Giancarlo, what we’re really asking is, how does your power make you any better than a PED user? What makes you unique, out of the players named in the offseason report, is that you don’t seem able to pick and choose when to use your ability.”

“The fact that the roof on Marlins Park is intact should be enough to show you that I know how to hold back,” Giancarlo says dryly. “Look, I’ve lived with this my whole life. If I didn’t know how to restrain myself I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

“So opposing teams and managers are supposed to take it at your word?”

Giancarlo picks up the baseball bat that was resting behind his chair and breaks it in half, as easily as most people can break a twig. He sets the two halves on the table in front of him. The crowd has largely gone silent. He raises his eyebrows. “Any of you aware of how hard it is to get a hit in the big leagues?”

They all just kind of look at him.

“Best way to keep me honest, don’t throw the ball where I can hit it. You’re all familiar with my game, you know my strikeout rate.” He leans closer to the microphone so he’s sure they can hear him. “I’m not going to apologize for what I can do if I get a barrel on the ball. If your pitchers don’t want me to take ‘em deep, then have ‘em throw the ball better.” Giancarlo gets to his feet. “That’s all I really have to say.”

-

**_@ Buster_ESPN: Arenado’s reps have been contacted for comment, but apparently no response. May have to wait until spring training._ **

-

“Dude,” Charlie Blackmon says over the phone. “I can’t believe you never told me.”

Nolan kicks his refrigerator shut and twists the top off his Gatorade. “I didn’t ‘cause it’s not true. I don’t know who put that out there, but it’s not.”

“Huh,” Charlie says. “Well, I think the other ones are.”

Nolan shrugs. “How would we know?”

“Did you watch the Stanton presser?”

Nolan didn’t, and he’s surprised Charlie did. Most of the time he figures Charlie retreats to some cave over the offseason, devoid of technology and any link to the outside world. “No.”

“It was pretty wild.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Nolan chews on his lower lip. He only skimmed the report, he was too upset that his name was falsely included. He took a break from looking at any further articles about it, too, and he’s once again abundantly glad he’s not on social media.

“Anyway, the report said you like can read people’s minds, so you know where they’re gonna throw or where they wanna hit the ball? Pretty fuckin’ sweet.”

Nolan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it would be, if I could actually do that.”

“Huh,” Charlie says again. “You know, I don’t think any regulations are actually gonna be that bad. Like, the commissioner’s gonna say ‘stop doing that’ but I don’t know how they can actually stop you.”

Nolan isn’t lying to Charlie, and he can’t figure out why Charlie doesn’t believe him. If Charlie doesn’t believe him, then who will? And what’s he supposed to do, tone down his defense just to prove he doesn’t know where the ball is going? Strike out on a bad pitch to show he isn’t reading anyone’s mind?

“It sucks enough people say I’m not as good as I seem because of where I play,” Nolan snaps at Charlie. “I’m not out here trying to say I’m the best player ever but Jesus, Chuck, give me a break. It really isn’t true, I can’t read people’s fucking minds.” It’s honestly one of the craziest claims he’s ever heard, something this reporter surely made up because it sounded cool.

But Stanton’s already owned up to his power, and more players are going to start doing so – how’s it going to look when Nolan keeps denying?

“Hm. Weird they’d say that about you,” Charlie says. His voice is mild, but Nolan’s pretty sure he still doesn’t believe him.

“I gotta go,” Nolan says, and hangs up before Charlie can say anything else.

He wants to let it go, not let any of this bother him, but it’s just one more thing people will use to downplay his accomplishments, and it would be nice if his friends were at least on his side.

-

**_ @ESPNChiCubs: _ ** **_Epstein visited with Baez at home during offseason. Doesn’t believe there is anything to worry about re: powers. #Cubs_ **

-

The bulldogs are running around in the field behind the barn and Javy can’t help but smile. Theo Epstein looks out of place there, leaned up against the side of the barn dressed in a polo and dark slacks like he’s going golfing rather than visiting Javy on the farm. “Hey, Javy, I’m really happy for you. This place is perfect for you.”

Javy grins at Theo. “Yeah? We like it.”

One of the bulldogs is gnawing at Theo’s shoelace, but Theo doesn’t seem to notice or care, which Javy appreciates. They’re just being dogs, after all. “I guess you read the report,” Theo says.

Javy shrugs. “Yeah. So what? I know the kinda ballplayer I am. Having a power doesn’t change it that much.”

Theo finally shakes off the dog as he tries to sink his teeth into the leather of Theo’s shoe. “Everyone knows your baseball instincts are off the charts. Without the instincts, not sure what good the power does you.”

The German shepherd, Max, trots up to Javy and drops a slimy red rubber ball at his feet. Tail wagging, he looks up at Javy expectantly. Before really thinking about it, Javy reaches out with his mind and sends the ball sailing across the field without so much as touching it. Max bounds after it, tail still wagging joyously.

Javy has to credit Theo. If he’s shocked, it doesn’t register on his face. “At the same time,” Theo says, “maybe keep this sort of thing between you and the dogs.”

Javy laughs, throwing his head back. “Between me and the dogs. Yeah, I will.”

The dogs are all around him now, sensing that it’s nearing dinnertime. Max comes trotting back with the red ball and drops it at Javy’s feet again. Javy ignores it this time – he’ll play with Max later.

He whistles through his teeth and one of the bulldogs pricks her ears. Javy grins and reaches out telekinetically. He goes slow, lifts the dog just enough that her paws barely touch the ground, then higher, until she’s nearly eye level with Javy.

Theo still does a pretty good job masking surprise, but Javy can tell he’s caught off guard.

The dog wags her tail in midair, wiggling happily and rolling onto her back.

“Kimbo likes it when I make her float,” Javy says.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen,” Theo says.

Javy laughs. He floats Kimbo over to him until he gets his arms around her. Kimbo licks his face, still wagging her tail.

“You’re something else,” Theo says.

Javy sets Kimbo back on the ground and she trots off, still waiting for her dinner. Javy’s still laughing. “You gonna visit everybody who got named in that report?”

Theo smiles thinly. “You and Bryant, sure.”

Javy shakes his head. “You don’t gotta worry, man. I don’t need it for my game.” He shrugs. “KB doesn’t need his either, I bet.”

“You’re probably right,” Theo says. “It’s just good to be on top of this stuff, you know.”

“Yeah, I get it. Keep us all in line.” Javy draws a toe through the dirt at his feet. “Wanna help me feed the dogs?”

-

**_ @Ken_Rosenthal:  _ ** **_Spring training starts today for position players. All inhumans on MLB teams have been encouraged – not required, encouraged – to disclose that status to team officials._ **

-

Grichuk leans against his new locker in the Blue Jays spring training facility in Florida, the eyes of the whole team on him. “So yeah. That’s about it.” He folds his arms across his chest. “It’s not, like, a big deal.”

As far as these…. superpowers, or whatever you want to call them, go, it’s pretty tame. So the guy can’t get hurt. Most people would call that just plain lucky.

Grichuk goes on to explain that okay, no, he can get hurt, but he can heal it up super quick, so he’s not unbreakable, he just doesn’t _stay_ broken. And no, it only works on himself, he doesn’t have magic healing powers to help anybody else on his team or then it _would_ be an unfair advantage, wouldn’t it?

A whole lot of good that does Troy.

Grichuk’s little team meeting is pretty anticlimactic, and Grichuk looks a little disappointed, even, but the team is dispersing almost as quickly as they gathered.

Troy is due for fielding drills soon, so he goes to his locker to get his cleats. He feels a little numb lacing them up, like he’s trying not to think about something. (He _knows_ he’s trying not to think about something.)

“You okay?” Donaldson asks him.

Troy scowls, irritated by the question for no reason in particular. He almost catches Grichuk’s eye from across the locker room and he looks away before Grichuk can acknowledge him. “Fine,” Troy says shortly.

His ankle hurts.

- 

There are days when Dee Gordon forgets his speed isn’t natural. There are days he doesn’t remember why they call him Flash. He’s fast – plenty of people are, especially in baseball, he can’t ignore Billy Hamilton and Trea Turner – but he holds back a lot.

When he and Giancarlo were on the Marlins together, he’s pretty sure they both had an understanding of what the other could do, but they had an unspoken agreement about it. _I won’t tell yours if you won’t tell mine_.

Still, it’s one thing for Giancarlo to know, and it’s another to stand there in front of Christian Yelich trying to confess. He’s had this horrible feeling since the report came out – he doesn’t think Giancarlo is the type to believe that Dee would have told anyone after they were both traded, but this niggling guilt has been eating away at him, because Giancarlo was named and Dee wasn’t.

Giancarlo’s in Florida, though, along with Ozuna with the Cardinals, so if Dee is going to confess to a former teammate, it’s going to be Christian.

“Look, I gotta just show you, Yeli, or you’re not gonna believe me.”

“You’d be surprised,” Christian says, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Dee has dragged him to the indoor track at the Mariners facility, early in the morning before either of them are supposed to report to their own camps.

Dee rubs a hand through his hair, surprised at how nervous he is. What if Christian tells somebody? He wouldn’t. Dee knows Christian. “Okay, brace yourself, bro.”

Christian laughs and leans back against the wall. “I’m ready.”

Dee takes a deep breath – to calm his nerves, not because he needs it – and runs. He doesn’t really know how fast he _can_ go, only how fast he’s gone before. Still, he runs the lap in about a second and bumps into Christian when he comes to a stop, and momentum sends him tumbling backward onto his ass. Christian bursts into laughter. “So,” he says, still giggling, “you’ve got one too.”

Dee, still on the ground, furrows his eyebrows. “Me and G? Or what the hell you mean, _too_? Holding out on me, Yeli?”

Christian rolls his eyes. “I mean, maybe there’s a reason all three of us got traded right after Jeter took over.”

Dee collapses onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Well,” he says, “shit, then.”

-

“So, c’mon,” Anthony says, coming up on Kris’s right side as they’re jogging laps, “you gotta tell me what it’s like.”

Kris frowns, playing dumb. “What what’s like?”

“You know!” Anthony is perfectly sincere, as ever. He throws an arm out, gesturing to where Javy’s stationed in the middle of the field, making baseballs whiz through the air to the delight of Pedro Strop’s children. “That inhuman shit,” Anthony continues in a hushed voice, as if everyone doesn’t already know.

“Oh, that,” Kris says. “I mean, I don’t know, I don’t do it that much.”

Anthony furrows his brow at him as they keep jogging. “Really? If I could do what you can do I’d do it all the time.”

Kris laughs. “It’s not that cool. It’s not flashy like Javy or anything.”

“C’mon,” Anthony says again. “You gotta tell me. You ever – I know it’s bad, but you ever done it during a game? Oh shit, hang on – I bet you did during the World Series, right? That final out? Because you _had_ to make that play.”

Kris wrinkles his nose. “Rizz, I almost _didn’t_ make that play. You’re the only reason the ball didn’t end up in the dugout.”

“Oh yeah,” Anthony says, unconcerned. “Whatever. I caught it, we won. So if not then, when? When have you used it in a game?”

Kris laughs and stops running. Anthony follows suit and Kris throws his arm around Anthony’s shoulders. “You know what,” Kris says, “if you figure it out, I’ll tell you. But you have to guess.”

Anthony shrugs Kris’s arm off. “Really, man?” he asks. “You won’t even tell me, your best friend?” He clutches his chest. “I’m hurt, Kris.”  

“Don’t pretend you don’t love a guessing game,” Kris says. There’s thrill in the chase, and Anthony knows it.

“Fuck you,” Anthony says. His grin betrays him, and Kris knows he loves the idea. “What do I get if I win?”

Kris laughs again. “Bragging rights.”

“Now _that’s_ no fun.”  

-

Nolan’s eating breakfast at the training complex when Charlie joins him – slides into the seat across the table and rests his chin in his hand, just looking at him until Nolan finally says “ _What_?”

“I was a dick on the phone,” Charlie blurts out. “Sorry, man.”

Nolan rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. We’re cool.” Staying mad at Charlie is way too much work anyway; it’s like fighting with his brother - easier to just let it go until next time.

“You know,” Charlie says, “I bet there’s a way to prove whether or not you actually have that superpower. I bet they can do a test for it. Like an STD.”

Nolan laughs. “Why is that the first thing you think of?”

“It makes sense!” Charlie says, throwing out his arms in a so-sue-me gesture. “Piss in a cup and somebody smarter than us can tell you whether or not you’re Wolverine.”

“Nerd,” Nolan says, poking at his scrambled eggs with a fork. “I don’t know, you’re probably right, I guess. I just wish, you know. That people believed me. C’mon, you know I own up to my own bullshit, why would this be any different?”

Charlie shakes his head as DJ joins them and shifts aside so DJ has room to sit down. “People love a scandal.”

“It’s stupid,” Nolan says. “They didn’t have to drag my name into it, they named plenty of people even if they didn’t put my name in there.” He’s not even eating anymore, just pushing his eggs around on his plate with the fork. He wonders if anyone else in the report was falsely accused. He wonders if Charlie’s right and they’ll start testing for this like they do for PEDs. “I just feel like….”

“Like maybe they’re looking for something else to get your name out in a negative way,” DJ says unexpectedly, completing Nolan’s thought. “It’s another way to ignore how good you are.”

Nolan waves his hand wildly at DJ. “Yes! Thank you! It’s like, what the fuck do I have to do? I know I’m not the greatest player ever or whatever, but – “

“Nolan, you’re damn good,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, thanks.” Nolan stands up, pushing his plate aside. He has way too much energy to just sit here. In the few weeks between the release of the report and spring training, he’d unplugged enough to almost forget. However, now that he’s here, no one is talking about anything else so he can’t think about anything else. “Somebody come work out with me.” Get him out of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 will be coming shortly...


End file.
